I glance down and swallow hard past the lump in my throat. “Yes.”
When the buzzing of the tattoo gun starts, I take a deep breath and prepare for the sting. When it touches my skin, I breathe a sigh of relief that it doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Thankfully, being such a small design, it only takes a few minutes.
“All done,” she declares as she swipes a paper towel over my skin. “Take a look. I hope you like it.”
“Getting a tattoo of a stranger’s name must seem a crazy thing to do,” I say, a little embarrassed. She must think I’m a moron.
She chuckles. “I’ve seen a lot crazier tattoos in my time. This is nothing.” She pulls off her gloves and drops them in a bin next to the bench.
Still holding the bra to my chest, I make my way to a full-length mirror on the wall and check the tattoo. K.A.D.E
My stomach twists into a knot.
Sally sidles up beside me. “It looks great. Do you love it?” She claps with excitement.
Coming down from my alcohol high, my head’s pounding, and my mouth’s dry. This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. Tomorrow, I’ll Google tattoo removalists. “How can I love a stranger's name on my skin?” I quickly put my blouse and jacket on. Hopefully, covering up his name will make me stop thinking about it.
“Let’s think up an acronym for it. We can work out what the letters stand for when we get home. It will be fun,” Sally suggests with a giggle as she takes a seat.
I watch while she gets her tattoo. Inspired by my design, she’s decided to ditch the dragonfly idea. Instead, she’s opted for her childhood dog’s name, Benji, to be placed on the back of her shoulder.
“We are two badass bitches,” she declares with a fierce expression on her face when we’re both done.
I laugh. “So bad.” Then my face screws up, and my stomach twists into a sick knot. “What have I done?” This is not me. I’m not impulsive. I’ll research sneakers for hours before committing to buying a pair, and they’re not permanently attached to my feet.
“It’s fine. After a couple of days, we’ll forget they’re there.”
“Easy for you to say. Yours is on your shoulder. You can’t physically see it without a mirror. I’ll always see mine.”
“It’s a reminder that you can be spontaneous and a little wild.”
I don’t feel spontaneous or wild. I feel queasy. That could also be the aftereffects of alcohol.
I wonder if Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous is still on the other side of the curtain. Hopefully, he’s gotten tired of waiting and left. Part of me doesn’t want to face him again—he makes me feel things that I shouldn’t feel for a stranger. And the other partwantshim to be waiting so Icanfeel those things. Am I losing my mind?
Holding my breath, I cautiously step out from behind the curtain. I spot him immediately. His large presence is hard to miss. He’s flipping through a magazine like he hasn’t a care in the world. When his head lifts, our eyes meet, and I exhale on a shuddery breath. His stare is so intense that my body tingles from head to toe.
He tosses the magazine onto a small round table next to him. “All done?” he asks casually, like he has no idea what he’s doing to me. Like the look he just gave me didn’t just practically singe the clothes from my body.
“Yes. Still think I’m chicken?” I put a little sass in my tone and pump out my chest. There’s no way I’m going to let him know it was one of the scariest things I’ve ever done.
“I need to see proof.” His gaze zeros in on my chest.
“You want proof?” The sass is replaced by something sounding meek and tinny. To give him proof would mean I’d have to lift my blouse, and I didn’t put my bra back on. How much side boob would he see? I could tell him no. Who is he to demand proof? I know it’s there. I can still feel a slight sting and the clingfilm on my skin. But like my hands have a mind of their own, or he is some magician who can make people do things they normally wouldn’t do, I raise the side of my blouse, exposing the soft curve of my side boob.
He rises from the sofa and ambles over to me, where he bends and leans forward to get a better look. His warm breath fans over my skin. I bite my lip, waiting for him to touch me again. When he doesn’t and pulls away, I deflate with disappointment and drop my shirt.
“Nice,” he says.
Nice…Nice. That’s all he has to say? I’ve branded his name on me. He could at least show a bit more enthusiasm.
He doesn’t say anything else as he ambles toward the curtain. “Wait.” He stops and turns. “A deal is a deal. My name’s Daisy.D.A.I.S.Y,” I spell out. “Would you like me to recommend a place you can put it?” Where would I get him to place my name? Over his heart? Ha! Like he’d ever do that. Maybe on the side of his torso to match mine.
“No.”
“Why not? It only seems fair since you suggested where I put mine.”
With an impassive look on his face, he says, “I’ll never tattoo a woman’s name on my body. GoodbyeDaisy Chain. Enjoy your new tattoo.”
